Rise From Silver Shadows
by ladyraen
Summary: Strange things begin to happen sixth year, when Harry's class turns sixteen- the struggle to defeat Voldemort intensifies and draws in the unlikeliest of people. AU
1. A Christmas Midnight

AN: Hey! I've turned the idea for this fic over in my mind for a long time now, until finally I decided that I had to start. I'm really not very sure if I want to keep going with this, because if I do end up writing this it's going to be very, very, very long and drawn out and complicated. Please, please, PLEASE review and tell me if you think it's worth continuing! This chapter has stuff that might not make sense, but if I end up telling the rest of the story it will. So please, FEEDBACK!!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and anything recognizable in this story doesn't belong to me. Don't sue, please.

Chapter 1

The grandfather clock in the hall struck 11:30, and Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat, shivering in the icy cold room. The roaring fire to his left did little to warm up the cavernous dining hall. He had been here since 10 o'clock, and still he sat at the long, cold, deserted table, with only his mother across from him. He sneaked a glance up at her, but her head remained bowed, her face perfectly still, composed, the candlelight gleaming off of her white-blond hair. He sighed silently, and bent his own head, studying the ornately carved serpents that twisted their way around the entire perimeter of the Dining Table. The serpents' eyes- tiny spheres of obsidian- flickered in the dim light, and Draco bit the inside of his cheeks as he tried to keep his eyes open.

"Draco, be still!" Narcissa's voice cut like a lash across the frozen silence, and Draco jerked up like he'd been scalded. He looked down, and realized that he had brought his hand up and had been tracing the twisting wood. He quickly brought it down beneath the table again, and finally just held onto the arms of his high, throne-like chair until his knuckles turned white. The real seat of power- a monstrous, intricately, dizzyingly carved throne stood ominously vacant at the head of the table.

Every Christmas Eve since Draco had gone to Hogwarts had been like this- Lucius would go into his study at exactly 10 o'clock and disappear. Draco didn't know how, perhaps he apparated, or maybe used floo powder. In any case, Draco and Narcissa kept a lonely, cold vigil every Christmas Eve in the Dining Hall until Lucius came home. Sometimes he came home before Christmas Day, sometimes after. But it was always a long, silent wait.

The first time Draco had asked any questions about his father's Christmas departures, his mother had slapped him for the first time in his life. The livid hand mark had remained on his face for days.

After that, Draco never asked again.

Of course, he had figured it out soon enough- he knew that Christmas Eve and Christmas itself were two of the most powerful days of the year- knew that the Dark Lord would take advantage of it any way he could. One would not have thought that dark magic could have possibly endured such an outpouring of 'goodwill' and 'light magic', but certain doors were open such nights that were closed for the rest of the year.

The fire flared up with a momentarily blinding green flash of flame, and Lucius Malfoy rose up in the fireplace. Draco squinted, rising up out of his seat. As the tall figure of his father straightened up, Draco stared, dimly becoming aware that something wasn't quite right- the older man seemed to sway a bit, stagger, almost as if he was drunk. Draco felt the hair rise at the nape of his neck, and when his father looked up, there was an odd kind of smile playing around Lucius' mouth. Cold dread filled Draco at the expression, ice solidifying along his spine. 

Something was not right.

"Draco, don't look." Narcissa's voice was tersely sharp, and Draco glanced at her instead in astonishment. She rose up, and quickly walked towards her husband, effectively cutting off Draco's view. He blinked in astonishment- she had pulled out her wand and performed a Veiling Spell on herself. It cast a blue aura around the caster that nullified all malicious hypnosis and other dark spells that required the victim to make eye contact. Draco stepped away from the table in confusion. What the hell was going on?

"Lucius, you're late tonight." Narcissa's voice was normal now, calm, the tone of voice she always used with her husband.

"Yes, well, our lord had a few things he wanted to say to me-" Lucius's normally deadly precise voice was slurred now. "In fact-" Lucius leaned- almost drunkenly- to the right around Narcissa to look at Draco. Draco saw Narcissa's cat-quick signal to look down, and he hastily averted his eyes. "We talked about you, Draco, my heir." Draco turned away, and looked through the corner of his eyes at his father- there was a chilling sneer there that Draco had never seen before, but there was something deeper there, something more profound that Draco couldn't read- wasn't sure he wanted to read.

"Seems that the Dark Lord has taken quite an interest in you recently- he'd like to know the true quality of his best future Death Eaters. And, of course, you are the best- the cream of the crop- la crème de la crème." Lucius's voice had taken on a purring sort of quality as he stalked- there simply was no other word for it- closer and closer to his son. Draco backed up instinctively, still not looking directly at his father, and still not understanding in the least what the hell was going on. "Draco, are you such a coward that you cannot look me in the eye? Look at me when I talk to you! _Look at me_!" Lucius's voice had become raised. Draco bit his lip, drawing blood. Normally he would have looked up immediately, no hesitation, but he was acutely aware of his mother's warning- and something- something _wrong_ in Lucius's voice set of an uneasy prickling under his skin. Draco's gaze remained firmly rooted to the ground.

He was faintly aware that his mother had backed up with him and his father, remaining almost directly between them. He heard her whisper a few words, and then the familiar feel of magic threaded around him. His mother murmured quietly, so only he could hear- "Draco, you can look up now- but be careful." Draco slowly raised his head, burning with questions, but the slightest shake of his mother's head forestalled him. He turned his attention to his father, instead.

A queer light shone in Lucius Malfoy's eyes, and Draco recoiled inwardly- this was not his father- this was something deranged and manic.

"So how strong are you really, my son?" Lucius lazily pointed his wand straight at Draco. The glint in his eyes showed that Lucius was clearly prepared to cast a spell.

A flood of pure adrenaline rushed through Draco's body. He could hardly think through the pounding of blood in his ears, in his head. He remained stock-still, dead silent. Lucius smiled, all gleaming teeth. "Well, at least you don't run away screaming, I'll give you that much. But how about this? Avada Ked-" Draco stiffened at the incompleted curse, unable to believe his ears. The temperature in the room seemed to have plunged below zero, and Draco felt like he was literally frozen to the spot. Lucius chuckled. "Even better. You're tougher than I gave you credit for, Draco." But even as Draco watched in pure disbelief, something in Lucius's eyes changed- something grew even colder, harder, becoming terrifyingly merciless, inhuman. There was some undercurrent there too, though, something strong and deep and utterly incomprehensible to Draco. "So let's see how you fare against the real thing. Avada Kedav-" Draco was pushed out of the way roughly, rapidly. His mother stood in front of him, facing Lucius with her wand drawn.

"Narcissa, get out of the way!" For the first time that evening, Lucius's voice was crisp and deadly precise.

"No." Narcissa's voice was soft but firm. "Lucius, Draco is our son- he's your son." Her voice was almost pleading, and Draco looked at her in astonishment- he had never heard her talk that way- ever.

Lucius smiled coldly. "I know. That's why."

Narcissa's stance shifted subtly, now, and when she spoke again her voice had become steely, with an injection of pure ice. "You may not kill him. You did not kill him then- you may not- you _may not_ kill him now. You know it is not time." Draco almost choked at this- but both his parents ignored him.

"You are wrong. It is." There was a note of finality in Lucius's voice, and something almost sorrowful? Narcissa raised her eyes directly to her husband's, and what she saw there made her soften. "Oh, Lucius-" she breathed, and she took a tentative step forward, a kind of hopeless acceptance coloring her voice. "But you _cannot_- he's your _son_-" but the next thing he knew Lucius had angled his wand around Narcissa so it was pointing straight at Draco once again. "_Avada Kedavra!_"

Draco was thrown to the floor as Narcissa shoved him aside- and he watched in horror as the green jet of light sped across the room and hit Narcissa.

Narcissa dropped heavily to the ground, but somehow she kept drawing in a few ragged breaths. Draco scrambled over to her frantically. "Mother- Mother!" His shaking hands felt for hers, and when she reached up weakly he grabbed them in sheer desperation. His mother looked up with rapidly fading eyes, and it was obvious that she forced herself to speak with the last of her waning energy.

"Draco- you may not kill him- promise me you will not kill him-" Narcissa's eyes were intense and anxious. He nodded- anything, anything.

"I promise." Draco whispered, desperately, unthinkingly. Narcissa looked up at him one last time. She smiled, a faint, warm smile, and then the breath passed out of her body, and her hand went slack. Draco shut his eyes, certain that the whole night had been a nightmare. He gulped in a few breaths, trying to wake up, trying to believe that the whole bloody mess wasn't true.

His mother's hand slipped out of his hold. He opened his eyes, and looked down. There was still a faint, warm smile on her face- and that was what convinced him that he was not dreaming, that this was real- because he knew that in a hundred years he never could have dreamed such a smile on his mother's face. Tears began steadily dropping from his face, and he took in a deep, unsteady, breath.

Then he drew his hand over her face, closing her unseeing eyes.

The clock in the hall struck midnight. It was Christmas Day.

AN: Should I continue or what? Please review!


	2. Dark Forest

AN: Megan, this one's all for you, girl. Thank you so much for getting me to go write this- although I can tell you already that I'm going to need loads of encouragement for Chapter 3.

And to dancetdplc and meg, chapter 1's a little bit revised, but nothing major.

There's some adult language and some adult humor in this chapter, but nothing major, so other than that, just read and enjoy!

Chapter 2:

"Albus!" Albus Dumbledore looked up sharply from his desk, then swiveled around as a lean figure dressed in black moved into view in the dusty portrait in the upper left corner above his fireplace. The aged professor looked up at the former headmaster, whose pale face was full of some strong emotion- and Dumbledore felt a small murmuring of unease well up inside of him. But that was nothing in comparison to how he felt when the words actually hit.

"Albus, Narcissa Malfoy is dead."

Dumbledore blinked once, and the air in the study seemed to slow, then still completely- even the fire seemed to freeze for a moment. But the moment passed, and Dumbledore asked sharply, "And Draco? Is he alive?"

The other nodded. "Lucius was after Draco, but Narcissa…" he trailed off, voice breaking. Dumbledore furrowed his brow, then closed his eyes as if in pain. "And time was running out for him…" He murmured. He bowed his white head for a moment, grief and something more settling over his shoulders like a cloak of lead. "I should have expected this…" The silence lingered painfully, but then Dumbledore looked up briskly, his eyes sharp. "Thank you, Hadrien. Please continue to keep watch until I send someone over- Draco will have to come here immediately." The painted figure nodded once, then vanished.

Dumbledore walked over to his desk, an massive affair with different intricately detailed small figures carved into the rich wood of the legs and sides. He took out his wand and glanced at the different figures and symbols on the right front leg of his desk- he let the tip of his wand drift over a small tabby cat, poised in austere grace- "No, it would never do to send her…" he murmured to himself. Dumbledore let his wand rest on the sinuous figure of a snake writhing motionless, but he knew as well as anybody that it would be impossible, though certainly the best choice. Finally, the third symbol down was an abstract but intricate starburst gleaming deep chestnut in the firelight, and Dumbledore tapped it firmly in a pattern of raps and knocks. Then he walked over to the fireplace and waited.

In a few moments, a dark-haired head appeared in a green flash in the glowing hearth.

"Yes, Headmaster? What is it?" Professor Sinistra asked briskly.

"Narcissa Malfoy is dead." Dumbledore went on despite Auriga's shocked gasp, and spoke in a low, quick voice filled with urgency. "Draco is unharmed as of yet even though it appears that he was the initial target, but he _must_ come to Hogwarts as soon as possible- for our sake as much as his. Auriga- I presume you know about Narcissa's abilities? In fact, I would guess that you are her other salvitas holder?" He said shrewdly, looking at the other professor over the top of his spectacles. At Auriga's sharp nod, Dumbledore went on. "Then your best hope to convince Lucius to let Draco come here immediately is to play on the fact that Draco _must_ at the very least go into the Dark Forest within the next twenty-four hours- otherwise I fear that he may simply keep Draco at Malfoy Manor. I need hardly tell you that that would spell disaster for us all- but one more thing before you leave, Auriga- cast a Veiling spell on yourself and do _not_ look directly into Lucius's eyes, is that clear?" Auriga nodded once, and then Dumbledore sharply uttered one last warning. "Be careful, do you hear me?" The corner of Auriga's mouth twisted upward. "Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus? Sometimes there's no other choice, Headmaster." With another flash of green flame, Auriga was gone.

Some noise came from the other end of the hall, but Draco couldn't look up, couldn't hear anything, feel anything except the purest disbelief. His body felt cold, numb, his heart like it had frozen in his chest, and only the quiet implacable ticking of the clock marked the passage of time.

Somewhere off in the distance, a noise creaked and Draco distantly identified it as the sound of the main door opening into the foyer, though he couldn't tear his eyes away from the terribly still and cold countenance of his dead mother. Soon came the sharp staccato beats of precise footsteps down the marble hallway towards the dining hall.

"Lucius." Draco looked up in surprise- and there was probably the last voice that he would have expected at a time like this. Professor Sinistra stood in the huge doorway, the same blue aura of the Veiling spell around her, and suddenly Draco became conscious of how this must look- his father standing in front of the blazing green hearth, casting flickering shadows over Draco with his dead mother's head cradled in his arms.

"Lucius, did you-" Draco watched as something like comprehension dawned bright and terrible in Professor Sinistra's eyes- "No! NO! Lucius, what have you done?" And Draco looked on in amazement as his diminutive professor took a threatening step towards his father, but then stopped- not in fear or cowardice, but rather as if she was leashing all her grief and anger only with the greatest effort.

"What are you doing here, Auriga? More importantly, how did you get in here?" Lucius' voice was as silky and as steely as ever, and Draco bit back hysterical laughter.

"In case you haven't forgotten, Lucius, Malfoy Manor recognizes all of Malfoy blood- and Narcissa and I are sworn Blood Sisters- some oaths are still held sacred, though that may surprise you." Pure venom dripped from Professor Sinistra's voice, but she continued on. "But you seem to be forgetting a lot of things, including the fact that Draco must come to Hogwarts with me, now, or else there will be hell to pay for all of us." Draco jerked up violently when he felt the professor's hand on his shoulder, drawing him upwards- somehow she had advanced, step by step, to the middle of the room without him noticing.

Lucius said nothing, but something- _something_- flickered cold and fast in his eyes. Professor Sinistra smiled humorlessly. "Yes, you have grown forgetful in your old age, haven't you?" She drawled. She shook her head, and somehow the movement turned into a shudder that ran violently through her body, and if Draco hadn't known better- Professor Sinistra was, after all, a Slytherin- he would have said it was a sob that shook her body.

"Come, Draco." Her voice was suddenly colorless and cold, though, and the protest that sprang to Draco's lips died on his tongue when he glanced up at her stern and now grief-intense face. He glanced down at Narcissa one last time, and something inside him shattered into a hundred tiny razor sharp pieces. Suddenly Professor Sinistra's face was very close and her expression very still. "There will be time later, Draco- time for explanations, time for grief, time for whatever it takes to get you through this- but now it not that time. You need to come with me."

She put her hand on his shoulder, and when she led him away he did not- could not- resist. They left Lucius Malfoy standing, alone, with his dead wife at his feet in the frosty dining hall of Malfoy Manor as the clock struck one.

The wintry air outside blasted across Draco's face like a stinging slap. He squinted through the snow blowing fiercely through the air.

"We have to get off Malfoy Land in order to apparate to Hogwarts- so we'll have to trudge through the snow for a bit-" Professor Sinistra broke off when Draco shook his head and a hysterical kind of laughter bubbled up from deep within him. A Malfoy. Trudge through the snow. Right. Professor Sinistra looked sharply at him, and Draco could almost hear her thoughts- _Good god, he's snapped already- _but instead Draco snapped his fingers and the snow instantly stopped falling over the long road from the gates to the door of Malfoy Manor, forming a kind of strange tunnel through the blizzard.

"The powers of Malfoy blood-" Draco heard Professor Sinistra murmur under her breath. "Will wonders never cease." And with that, the two of them went to Hogwarts.

The two of them apparated along the fringes of the Dark Forest, and then _something_ hit him- Draco gasped and almost doubled over when they fully materialized- something deep and dark was calling him, _pulling him_- an ancient, quicksilver song was running wild, rampant in the air around him, and he could feel his blood run suddenly hot, then colder than ice within in his veins. He shuddered, and tried to grope for some kind of sanity, because he could feel himself slowly slipping into madness- _fuck, what the hell is wrong with this night? I can't go down like this- I can't._ Suddenly, he felt two gentle hands placed over his temples, and the something- whatever the hell it was- faded a little bit, at least to manageable proportions. Draco straightened up, only to look into the grave blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore.

__

Fuck. What the hell is wrong with this night? Draco asked himself again.

"Draco, I know that this has probably been the strangest night of your life, but it has to get a little stranger before you can rest." Dumbledore's eyes are a soothing, hypnotic blue, purpose and strength burning in a calm steady flame- and for a moment Draco can understand why people would actually follow, yeah, even die for this man. 

Fuck. What the hell is wrong with **me**?

"You need to go to the heart of the Dark Forest- there is something waiting for you there. You'll know what you have to do when you get there." Draco blinked. Yeah, could you please be a little bit more ambiguous, because those directions weren't quite vague enough. Evidently Dumbledore was psychic as well as an old fool, because he glanced sharply down at Draco and suddenly Draco could feel the wild song start to throb in his head again. "Just listen, and you'll know what to do."

And suddenly, without quite knowing how he got there, Draco found himself in the Dark Forest, the trees looming close and mournful like grieving giants all around him. Draco blinked, but then suddenly the forest seemed to rush past hm in a blur, and Draco almost retched- was he moving or was the land shifting around him?- and suddenly the wild song rushed out of his head with a wild unearthly shriek and sudenly there were _things_ cackling with unwordly laughter all around him. The world was nothing but grey and black and shrieks of rusted steel and silver spears-

And then it all came to a screeching halt. Draco almost stumbled, and when he had caught his breath, he looked around him.

A clearing filled with crisp untouched snow shone bright and sharp in the moonlight, and suddenly his breath caught.

At the very heart of the clearing stood a cragged jet-black rock with something long and gleaming stuck through it.

It was a sword.

"Not very original, are we?" Draco snarked. Without thinking, he stalked over to the sword and pulled it out almost angrily before looking down at it- and then he almost dropped it. The edge gleamed deadly fine against the snowlight, and the lines were straight and pure, coming to an elegant handle inlaid with impossibly intricate silver filigree- or maybe it was platinum. This was quality, _quality_ work. There were _kings_ who had swords that looked like matchsticks next to this and looked at it. He brought up his hand to touch the metal- it was impossibly hard and smooth beneath his fingers. Draco looked closer at the edge- it was so absolutely fine that it was difficult for him to see where the metal ended and air began.

Draco swallowed, then turned away in disgust- he had been practically _drooling_, and Malfoys _never_ coveted what other had- it was so, so _plebian_. "I knew that I should have gone to Durmstrang- what does it say about Hogwarts that they got a great lot of phallic symbols lying around in random places to corrupt innocent minds?" He snapped, despite the fact that there was no one around to here him. He got a better grip on the sword and turned back to plunge it into the stone when-

"Damn!" He had inadvertently run his hand across the edge, and the edge was so sharp that it had sliced into his hand so smoothly that he hadn't even noticed. Draco was too busy cursing over his cut to notice that his blood, rather than dripping off the sword, spread like a thin film over the gleaming metal like a red-silver sheath, and then sank into the blade. Light flared along the entire length of the sword, and Draco almost dropped the sword as the brilliant white light lit up the entire forest.

"What-" Draco's voice broke off as the light seemed to echo off in booming waves, illuminating each successive wave of trees like the crest of the sea over jagged rocks- he could see the light spreading like water to the very borders of the forest, and then somehow it seemed to bounce back in waves again- except this time there came back that wild, _wild _song again, and this time the light was all the colors of the Malfoy spectrum (not rainbow- _never_ rainbow)- midnight-black, blood-red, poison-green, bile-yellow- and suddenly a thousand voices joined into that wild song, pulsing, and Draco almost cursed again when he realized exactly where all that light and all those voices were rushing. Except now it was too late to curse, and the song and the light came not even towards the sword, but towards _him_. 

And it felt like a scream torn from the throat of a dying god when it all finally converged in Draco's head, and a hundred different visions flashed before his eyes- scenes of battles and assasins, of killers and victims- a werewolf leapt for a white throat, only to be cut down by a sword- vampires and demons and succubi slunk and slithered around a ramrod straight and preternaturally still figure who stood in the center of the dark circle, pale starlight gleaming off of blond-white hair- More and more and more images kept rolling on by, until finally they all blurred into a curtain of light that surrounded him on all sides. Draco barely had time to draw a breath before another image formed, but this time the lines were so sharp and clean and pure he was afraid that he would cut himself again if he reached out to touch. 

A series of black gates stood before him, one after another and another and another and at the very end, something unbelievably bright and glistening and clear and crystal-snow-white shines at the end and Draco had to- had to blink before he shattered into a thousand worthless shards- but the next instant he had opened his eyes, and there from beneath the echoing dark gates suddenly emerged people- no, ghosts- no, fey, because every one of them was tall and blond and impossibly _impossibly_ beautiful- and in each of their hands shimmered the outline of a sword, _this_ sword and suddenly there were a thousand ancient and all-knowing eyes looking straight at him, straight through him. Draco swallowed, looking back, but suddenly the one standing nearest to him, only a little past the first dark gleaming gate caught his eye, and his heart almost leaped out of his throat when he realized who was looking at him with such sad eyes. 

__

Mother- Mother! He almost leapt forward, but in a moment the entire vision melted away, leaving Draco panting, breathless, and forever alone in the Dark Forest. Even the moonlight which had seemed to bright before was now dark and dim next to the visions that had surrounded him.

Draco stood there, motionless, for a moment, then hurled the sword away from him as hard as he could. A pure ringing tone rang out through the woods as the sword embedded itself deep within the wood. Anger flooded through him until he could barely breathe, barely see. He was not going mad. He was not going mad. Somebody was just playing some kind of sick and twisted game on him, because Merlin's Beard he could have almost _touched_ her. Draco breathed in a deep, shuddering breath and turned around. He was _not_ some kind of delusional, needy little boy to go around hallucinating images of his mother just because- just because she was dead.

Draco paused for a moment, and all the breath and anger left his body in one silent swift rush. He bit his lip, barely noticing the blood that was there, and the world went suspiciously blurry.

It was, ironically enough, the sword that saved him. Draco looked down at something nudging at his hand, and he saw th sword floating above the snow next to him. "What are you doing here? You're not mine- go back to your godforsaken little black rock and leave me alone!" And Draco almost- _almost_ winced when he heard his voice almost break- but almost didn't count.

The forest rustled something like an irritated sigh, and the sword swung upwards so that the flat of the blade faced him. Draco blinked; where the metal had been smooth and unmarked before, there were now spidery etchings all over the blade. Draco looked closer, and the flowing lines suddenly resolved into words- no, names, dozens and dozens of names written all over the blade. Draco blinked again. So?

Now the forest definitely sighed, and the sword moved to the left until a certain name flared with deliberate golden light, like it was trying to tell Draco something.

__

Narcissa Black. 

"Oh." Draco blinked once out of puzzlement, then another time to stop his eyes from blurring again. "It's still not mine, you idiot." He snapped, and to his relief his voice was as crisp and curt as ever.

This time the sword shoved itself so near Draco's face that he was afraid it would cut of his eyelashes, and finally, finally, he saw what he was meant to see. There it was, in the faintest of ghost writing. 

__

Draco Malfoy. 

"Oh." He said much more faintly. "Well." He shook his head. "I suppose that as long as it's my phallic symbol, then." The sword finally dropped down with an exasperated movement into his hand, and his fingers curled around the hilt. 

Perfect fit. 

Of course.

Draco looked up, and he could feel the forest waiting, quivering around him.

__

This is, he thought, _entirely too much like Malfoy Manor_. 

He snapped, and the forest melted around him. When the world blurred back into being, he was at the very edge of the Dark Forest. He took a wavering step forward, and nearly collapsed into the waiting hands of Albus Dumbledore.

AN: Yeah, I know it's a cliffhanger, but please, ppl, e-mail me! Feedback is good! Feedback is very, very, very good! It's probably really, really confusing right now but I promise that it will definitely be cleared up in the next chapter, which I would write a lot faster if *coughcoughcough* I could some 'encouragement'. Savvy? Heh. Again, thank you so much to dancetdplc and to meg. Dunno where this story'd be w/out you.


	3. Explanations

AN: Hey! Sorry that this took so long to get out, but as it is my parents would kill me if they knew I was writing fanfic right now instead of doing homework. Anyway, this chapter should clear things up a little bit, or perhaps not. In any case, I hope you enjoy it- I know it's short. Maybe if I get reviews I'll write the next chapter faster?… hint, hint, hint ;))

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No, he did not _collapse_ into the Headmaster's hands, Draco corrected as he drew himself up stiffly. The forest had just happened to place an inconvenient root in the way and Dumbledore had just happened to incidentally be there. 

Dumbledore released Draco with surprising quickness, and Draco almost hated him for _understanding_ so damn much before remembering that he already hated the headmaster. Draco distantly noticed Professor Sinistra still standing off to the side.

"Professor Dumbledore, what the hell just happened to me?" He asked distinctly, hoping that he sounded like sufficiently disdainful and condescending as if talking to a halfwit, rather than like he was making a concerted effort to speak clearly because his tongue had forgotten how to move and his head was buzzing so loudly that he thought he would fall down- which was, in fact, the truth.

Dumbledore's blue eyes sharpened a moment and then gentled, and Draco cursed silently when he realized that he was swaying from the dizzyness in his head.

"We'd do better to discuss this in my office, Mr. Malfoy." Dumbledore said gently. "Here, use this to carry your sword." Dumbledore transfigured a nearby branch into a scabbard and belt, and then quickly and efficiently buckled it around Draco's waist. He didn't even protest, because somehow his fingers weren't working either. The sword slid smoothly into its sheath.

"Well, come on, then." Professor Sinistra spoke up then. 

Draco nodded, then nearly winced because damn that was a bad idea and his head wasn't going to fall of but it was a near thing. Suddenly the buzzing in his head intensified even more, and then resolved itself into a hundred different whispering voices. A song, bright as the full moon at midnight flared in his head, and when Draco whirled around to face the forest his jaw dropped.

A hundred black specters of death silently emerged like liquid silk out of the forest, shining white eyes look directly at Draco.

Draco's breath caught as the creature at the head of the pack stepped forward and knelt at his feet, bowing its head.

"They're thestrals, aren't they." Draco said flatly.

"Yes, and now you command them, Draco." Dumbledore's voice was strangely neutral, guarded.

"What-" Draco gave up and fell to his knees, the sword falling to the ground as well as he scrambled for some kind of understanding in this world gone mad. "Stop it! Stop kneeling to me!" Draco stumbled forward and suddenly didn't care anymore. "_Stop it_!" He shouted, and grabbed the thestral by the head.

It immediately stood, and dragged Draco upright with it so he found himself clinging to its long, slender head. It nudged him, gently, and if Draco hadn't known better he would have said there was affection in the touch.

Draco stepped away reluctantly, and it turned sideways in an obvious invitation to mount. Draco stared, and the thestral flicked its tail irritatedly.

"We might as well ride, Draco- I know it's not very far to Hogwarts but I don't think that Kyril there is going to take no for an answer." Dumbledore commented dryly.

Draco blinked once, faintly surprised that Dumbledore had the sense to suggest a ride due to the thestral's stubborness rather than the futile exercise of pointing out a Malfoy's perceived weakness, then shook his head, and mounted. Dumbledore and Professor Sinistra mounted two other thestrals, and then, they were off.

The ride was sheer glory, and the night rushed past him in a storm of blue satin strewn over with stars. Draco tipped his head up to the sky, and for a moment the world seemed to shift around him, and the starlight falling on his skin made his entire body tingle with something eerie and ethereal.

Draco was jolted back to reality when they touched down with barely a thud. He slid down from the thestral's back, hands untangling from the silken mane, and he heard Dumbledore dismount behind him. His thestral- Kyril turned around, and looked briefly into Draco's eyes, and in the shining white depths Draco read something like a promise. The next moment, the three horse-specters were gone.

Draco was barely aware as Professor Sinistra gently guided him through the castle halls, but as the three of them paced along the whisperings in his head grew louder- a darkly violet song ran through his head, glimmering with bursts of light like moon-beads were strung across the thread of music. A lighter song ran counter to it, but it sang sickly and sharp, a little bitter in his head. A hundred other melodies, faint and whispering in his head.

Draco almost staggered with relief when the door to Dumbledore's office finally opened, and he collapsed into the chair that sat in front of the ornately carved desk. Professor Sinistra hovered almost anxiously behind Draco, and somewhere it occurred foggily to Draco that he never would have pegged his Astronomy professor as the maternal type, except thinking thoughts like that led to bad places, so Draco looked away and focuses on Dumbledore, who looked more inexplicably tired than Draco had ever seen him.

Dumbledore seated himself behind the desk, and somehow the weary look in his eyes made the questions on Draco's lips die down. For a few moments the only movement in the room was the firelight twinkling on Dumbedore's half-moon spectacles, and then the clock struck four, tolling deep into the silent room. When the last note faded away into the quivering stillness, Dumbledore stirred, then leaned forward, and Draco found himself the subject of the most piercing, intense regard he had ever encountered. Draco stared back levelly, and finally, the headmaster broke the silence.

"Draco Malfoy, you are now the new élarien." Dumbledore said softly, almost consideringly. Draco waited expectantly, but the headmaster said nothing more.

"I'm sure that's wonderful, professor, but if this is your idea of a revelation then I most sincerely wish that you have a good mediwitch on hand to revive you every time you faint after rediscovering that the sky is, indeed, blue. Now-"

"What do you know about necromancy?" The headmaster cut Draco off. The aged wizard leaned back in his chair, eyeing Draco speculatively.

Draco blinked.

"Well, it's highly illegal, extremely dangerous, and oh yes, there is that entire remarkably immoral/depraved/perverted/twisted business." He said slowly. "So I hope that you'll forgive me if I don't affect the appropriate amount of surprise when you tell me that Malfoys are somehow mixed up in it."

Dumbledore put his head back and laughed, long and loud.

"Draco Malfoy, you have no idea. Absolutely. No. Idea." Draco blinked, a little taken aback at the headmaster's reaction. After a few moments, Dumbledore sighed, and leaned forward to put his arms on his desk.

"Draco, may I tell you a story?" Draco arched an elegant eyebrow, which Dumbledore evidently took for assent. The headmaster sighed, and began. The fire crackled and popped in the background as Dumbledore's low voice took up the thread of the story.

"Once upon a time, magic ran wild in the world. It wasn't ordered, structured and ruled by spells, charms, incantations and other such methods. No, a long time ago the world only knew one kind of magic, and that was raw, untamed, pure magic. That didn't necessarily mean that things were better, though. There were wizards back then, but they were of a different breed, you see. Back then, being a wizard was often a matter of brute force and willpower, and as long as you had a certain aptitude for magic and the strength to channel it, you could do almost anything you liked. In a sense, the most powerful weren't wizards, but almost- almost gods." Dumbledore lapsed into silence for a few moments.

"Naturally, people began to use magic for all sorts of purposes- to predict the future, which lead to Divination. Magic to heal, a precursor to both our mediwitches and Potions today. Magic to garden, the precursor to Herbology. Eventually it spread to other purposes, more easily practical purposes, for lifting and transforming and so on. And, of course, people tried to use magic to unravel the greatest mystery of all…" The headmaster paused, the silence stretching in the stillness. "Death itself."

The headmaster lapsed back into silence, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers.

"Most people just dabbled in magic concerning the dead- laying the dead to rest with protective charms for peace, spells to guard and consecrate graveyards, that sort of thing. A few of the more daring ones tried séances and other such communications, but necromancy is considered the most dangerous magic for good reason. However, a few people- people of exceptional strength and focus, both magical and mental, managed to go further. They found a way to anchor themselves to life while sending their consciousness, their spirits across the border into death. But such traveling was- and still is, for that matter- extremely, almost unimaginably dangerous, and almost all the wizards who crossed into death never returned." Dumbledore stopped, and pushed himself up out of the chair to walk over to the fireplace. The aged wizard rested his elbow against the mantel, and, staring into the flickering, blazing hearth, continued.

"Finally, the most powerful of all the wizards who wished to travel into death met together to decide what to do. It was a meeting of great minds, great ambitions, great power. And whether you would credit it or not, there was also great trust in each other, Draco. Great faith." Dumbledore said in a low, thoughtful voice. The headmaster shook his head and went on. "They discussed many things, many spells, many ideas. They discussed spells to raise the dead, to put the dead to rest, spells to command and animate the dead, spells to communicate with the dead, enchant the dead, charm the dead, compel the dead to do the living's bidding. But the main topic of discusion was how to travel safely to the realm of the dead, to provide a reliable way there and more importantly, a reliable route back again." Dumbledore hesitated a moment.

"To give a full explanation of everything they debated would require use of detailed magical theory, but in essence they decided to create a kind of channel, a passageway constructed entirely out of magic that would provide a way for them to pass back and forth to the realms of the dead. Such a channel woul allow these wizards to control their descent into death, as well as provide a place to anchor their- well, I suppose life-force would be an accurate term- before they entered death. The channel would also serve as a source of power that would propel the wizards' ascent back into life." Dumbledore paused, and when he spoke again his voice was clipped and short.

"I shan't give you a full account now, but in the end the wizards decided to pool their magic in order to form a physical anchor for the channel in the land of the living, a resevoir of power both for them when they descended into death and to keep the passage open. Eventually, each of the wizards put part of their magical gift into a great rock and let their powers combine, the purpose being that if one of the wizards entered the channel and traveled into death, the power and life-force of the other wizards would anchor the traveler to life. Such was their strength perhaps their plan would have succeeded."

Dumbledore fell back into silence, and a tiny muscle twitched in Draco's jaw as he willed himself not to be drawn into the headmaster's little waiting game. An eternity later, the headmaster roused himself from his reverie and continued, his voice unreadable.

"However, pooling magic in that fashion creates bonds between wizards, and although it serves to make the group incredibly powerful, it also leaves the wizards within the network very vulnerable to each other." Dumbledore paused again, and now the words came even slower, dropping like pensive stones into the room. 

"As it was, one of the wizards used the network to drain all of the other wizards of their magical power and life forces. All the other wizards died, and the lone wizard claimed absolute control of the lode of power and the channel to death for himself."

Dumbledore turned away from the fire, and looked directly at Draco.

"The real names of the wizards involved are lost to antiquity, but the dying wizards, before fading away altogether, branded the lone wizard with a new name, a name they thought befitting his crime."

The old wizard gazed at Draco, firelight glinting fiercely off the half-moon spectacles.

"Bad Faith. Mal Foi. Malfoy."

AN: Like? If so, please review!

Meg- thanks so much for the encouragment, you have no idea how much it means to me!

Midgar Demon- Thank you for reviewing! I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Dancetdplc- wow, I'm speechless! I hope that this update didn't disappoint.


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